Disclaimer: This is a not-for-profit fanfic containing characters
inspired by copyrighted characters. No damage is intended. This story will contain
same-sex romantic and sexual relationships. Yes, the title is a nod to a particular
Ranma fanfic. Terry's quotes are from Hamlet and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
are Dead. This is number 15 in the series Of Mars And
Moon. Each entry takes place in one day. Love and kisses as always to Shandryl
for beta-reading these things.

"So it begins."

"Nothing has begun. They have not yet awakened. This is only
a prelude."

"Blood has been shed."

"Where your champion goes, there is always blood."

"I do hope that wasn't intended as an insult."

"Only a statement of fact."

"Shouldn't your champion be righting wrong and triumphing over
evil by now?"

"Have patience. These trying times will awaken the noble spirit
that slumbers within her. My kingdom shall be avenged."

"Do you always get poetic when reflecting on your *fallen* glory?"

"When she comes into her power, we shall see whose glory has
been lost."

***

Terry's focus was all on the road and its treacherous patches
of ice, hard to make out with only the illumination of head and streetlights.
Shaye leaned her cheek against the window, its chill an unfriendly reminder
of the weather that lurked just outside the car, waiting to steal the heat from
her bones. It had not snowed, exactly. There were no friendly drifts of fluffy
white to play or build with. Instead, freezing rains had
laid shimmering layers of ice over plants and structures alike, dangerously
slicking any low-traffic surfaces whose maintainers hadn't yet found sand or
salt to strew across them. The day's classes had therefore required keeping
careful watch on her feet so as not to wind up unexpectedly
sitting in a cold and uncomfortable position. But she hadn't really wanted to
look anyone in the eye anyway.

"You sure you don't want me to take you home first?" Terry said
without preamble, her eyes still forward.

"I'm fine. I'll just wait in the car."

"I just think it's important that I be there."

"I know."

"And Mimi's even counting it as working hours, not that the
money matters."

"Yeah."

There appeared to be nothing else to say.

I want to go home, Shaye thought. To Father. Where it's warm.

But she couldn't say that. Couldn't say that she would much
rather have been sitting in the computer lab watching Terry perform her job
and hopefully letting the normalcy of the routine reassure her than driving
to a house of the dead to visit a corpse.

The funeral home was out of their way, but the distance seemed
even longer in the cold and uncomfortable silence that existed between them.
They had not touched each other with any kind of passion since that exciting,
terrifying Friday night. Terry's guilt was too strong, Shaye's helplessness
too awkward, for either to risk reaching out to the other. And the dreams would
not come.

Or if they did, they came only in pieces. Shaye had felt the
flickers of memory, of Chantrea kneeling before a marble tomb, her mind made
blank by grief and loss. But the scene had never formed completely, even in
her sleep, and she hoped it was nothing more than a reflection of the current
situation.

The car crunched over frozen gravel as Terry pulled into a parking
spot. "Wouldn't you rather wait inside?" she asked as she released her seatbelt.
"I don't know how long I'll be, and it'll get cold out here."

"I'm not going in there," Shaye said, trying to keep the shuddering
out of her voice. The image of her mother, a waxy-skinned lifeless shell surrounded
by the overwhelming reek of flowers, still lingered too close to her mind. She
didn't know if it would be any easier facing the - even the
word "corpse" was repugnant - of a stranger. She didn't want to find out.

"I'll try to be quick then." Terry hesitated for a moment, as
if pondering some final word, some affectionate gesture before slipping out
into the night. The moment passed, and she opened the door and exited.

***

Entering the building, Terry rubbed her palms against the fabric
of her dress. The same wine-colored dress, in fact, that she had worn to church
on the day that had given her a lot of nonsense, a terrible scare, and a new
housemate. Funny the way things worked out. But she didn't have a lot of
good dresses, so this one would have to serve another somber purpose. Terry
wasn't quite certain of funeral home etiquette, but she guessed that jeans and
a t-shirt wouldn't be appropriate.

Of course, it would probably have been more fitting for Alan's
memory to show up in something black and ragged. But if his family were here,
they might not appreciate that.

She moved hesitantly through the foyer, reading the signs to
figure out which gallery she was meant to go to. Down one hall stretched a long
line of teenagers and their parents, some smiling and talking with each other,
others clearly hovering on the edge of hysteria. They were so young, Terry thought.
But death is no respector of age.

The direction indicated for Alan Talvi, though, led to a hall
that was nearly deserted. The room itself, when she found it, was no more promising.
A handful of people clustered at the far end, near a coffin, mercifully closed.
She suspected she had been correct about his method of choice - a gun to the
head would not leave a body that one could put on display.

"You came." The familiarly frizzy form of Mimi Charis wrapped
Terry in an unexpected hug. "This is such a terrible time."

Terry politely disengaged herself from the embrace, her eyes
on the floral sprays on the far wall of the room. "I can't stay long. I left
someone waiting for me in the car."

Mimi nodded. "My daughter's waiting outside too. She didn't
want to come in, and I can't say I blame her. You go on. I'm sure it means a
lot to Alan that you were here."

I'm not so sure he would care, Terry thought, but she continued
on her path, coming to a halt in front of... it.

She had never seen a coffin before, not been prepared for the
shiny reality of it, so much larger than the person had been. Was it a comfortable
place for a body to rest? "To die, to sleep, perchance to dream," she muttered
to herself, followed by, "Not that I'd like to sleep in a box, mind you, not
without any air--you'd wake up dead, for a start, and then where would you be?"

The box itself had a curious ornamentation. She leaned over
to peer at it. Yes, there was something unusual affixed to the lid, a patterned
piece of dark green stone.

"Nephrite," said a male voice.

Terry blinked. "What?" She turned.

"The stone. It's a kind of jade," said a young man. He was about
her own age and not unattractive, with hazel eyes and unevenly-cut brown hair.
He walked casually, with faint signs of an uncaring swagger to his hips, but
something in his face shone with a disturbing light. "I saw you looking. Would
you believe Alan had a will with very specific instructions about how
he should be buried?"

"Are you his brother?" That would explain the intensity of his
gaze. Grief did funny things to people.

He laughed, a humorless bark. "No. I'm... was his roommate.
But he was like a brother in some ways. I'm Kevin." He held out a hand.

She shook it. "Terry. I was a TA for one of his classes."

"Didn't think I'd seen you before," he smiled wolfishly.

Terry refused to admit that he made her uneasy. "Are his parents
here?"

"Them? Couldn't be bothered. Didn't give a shit about him, he
said. Nobody did." And now a darker, more traditionally mournful look stole
onto his face, and he looked away.

"I'm sorry," she said, and retreated. There was nothing she
could do here.

***

The two figures stood among the trees, masked by the darkness.
Their voices, at least, were female, if their forms too indistinct to make out
in the gloom.

"Damn it," one cursed. "Neither of us can control the temperature.
Her partner should be here to keep her warm."

"Then protect her from the winds and the predators of the night,"
the other replied calmly. "We are not expected to give more than we have."

"The princess should not be out here by herself."

A smile was implied in the tone of the voice. "She never would
listen to common sense."

If there were another watcher in the woods to gauge the direction
of their interest, he might have followed their gaze to the young blonde leaning
against a car, alone and unguarded in the dim parking lot.

Shaye rubbed her hands vigorously up and down her arms, stomping
her feet in hopes of keeping her circulation going. She wasn't entirely sure
how much it was supposed to help, but it was better than just standing there.
At least there was no wind. A stiff breeze might have forced her back into the
stuffy tomb of the car. The air out here was freezing her insides,
but at least it was fresh and didn't remind her too much of being dead.

She felt a cough forming in her chest and forced herself to
ignore it. It's just the weather, she thought. I am not getting sick.

When the cough exploded at last, it came with such a great rumbling
of noise that she was quite worried for a moment until she recognised the sound
of a motorcycle. Shaye watched as the bike pulled up, but the rider only stood
beside it after dismounting, going nowhere. She couldn't see much of him, especially
with the helmet. Maybe he was lost. "Excuse me?" she called out politely. "Do
you need help?" She realized only a moment after she spoke that some people
might not consider it the safest thing in the world to address a dark stranger
alone at night. But, well, surely God couldn't fault her for being a Good Samaritan.

The mysterious rider came closer. She still could not make out
any distinguishing features. Black helmet, black leather jacket, black jeans...
until the helmet was removed with a cascade of black curls, revealing a face
whose pallor made the night seem all the more cold. The woman - definitely female,
if entirely unfamiliar - stared at her for a moment. "Well?" she challenged.

"Well what?" Shaye asked.

Some of the tension faded from her stance. "You don't know me."

"Should I?" she said, puzzled.

The woman shook her head. "What are you doing here?"

"I came with a friend," Shaye started to say; then, because
she wanted to say it to someone, even a stranger, "My girlfriend. She's inside
visiting."

The other did not react to the pronouncement of Shaye's status.
"Visiting who?"

"Someone named Alan." What a strange thing to ask.

"So why aren't you in there?"

Not entirely a polite question. "I didn't know him." So she
returned the favor. "Why are *you* here?"

The dark rider considered for a moment. "Because you don't know
me, and you don't know him, I'll tell you." Her voice turned hard-edged, black
with self-hatred. "I knew Alan. We went out once. I thought perhaps we could
be friends. He wanted more. I told him I wasn't interested. He said he
had earned some attention from me. I threw him out. He would keep calling. First
it was anger. He called me a frigid bitch with a heart of ice. Then threats.
Then it was pleading. I stopped picking up the phone, so he talked to my answering
machine. On Friday night he was crying. He begged me to talk to him. He said
I was the only thing who could make hislife worth something,
his only chance. And I ignored him. Then I heard the shot."

Shaye was transfixed by the horrible expression on that pale
face, unable to respond.

"I heard him die."

Shaye hunted for words of comfort, for any way to reach out
to the pain that stood before her, but the cold was in her bones, making her
dizzy, and her ears rang with the imagined sound of death.

"It wasn't your fault."

They turned to see the new speaker, Shaye bending over with
coughs. It was a girl, no more than a teenager with long blond hair and a simple
pink dress.

"I never said it was my fault," the biker snapped.

"But it's what he wanted you to believe, isn't it? He tried
to make you love him with guilt, and when that didn't work, he tried to leave
you with enough guilt that you could never forget him." She scowled. "He was
selfish. He wouldn't listen to what you wanted, he only cared about what he
wanted, and when you wouldn't give it to him right away, he hated you.

He did everything he could to punish you. What a worthless,
self-centered bastard." The harsh words didn't suit her girlish face.

But they stung the dark woman. "No, he wasn't worthless," she
whispered. "He was brilliant. He could have been someone. We could have been
friends, if he had only waited..." Her words choked off in a sob.

The blond girl rushed over to the black-clad rider; held her
tightly as she cried. "It's okay," she said, and nothing more, no rush of soothing
nonsense.

After a moment, the woman pulled away. She made no apologies
for the redness of her eyes or nose. "I'm Justine," she said.

"I'm Emily," said the girl. "Let's go inside."

And together they went, without a backward glance to Shaye,
passing Terry on her way out.

***

Terry had been only half aware of Shaye's quiet coughing on
the drive home. Her mind was full of cold silences. Maybe I shouldn't have gone,
she thought. There's nothing I or anyone else can do for him now. We all need
to go on with our lives. Get back to normal.

But she didn't feel normal, not even now, sitting in her apartment
with the silence buzzing at her ears. Muttering curses under her breath, she
snuck back outside, out to the trees and bushes cocooned in crystal ice, to
be alone with her anger. It wasn't fair. He was just some kid, some naughty
little boy. He had no right to disrupt everyone's lives like this. It wasn't
fair!

She closed her eyes and let the anger build up inside of her,
felt its fire swirling around her heart, keeping her warm even on this winter
night. Then with a sweeping gesture she shoved the anger out of herself, into
the cold.

It was the dripping sound that made her open her eyes. She couldn't
find the source at first, blinking at the darkness, but as she moved closer
to the icy trees, she found that they were no longer icy... at least, not on
the side closest to her. The layer of frozen water that had formed over them
was gone, melted away, as if the trees had been struck by a great heat.

"That's not possible," Terry said aloud. Clearly these trees
had been treated by someone to remove the ice earlier and she just hadn't noticed.
There was no other possible explanation. She returned to her room, putting the
incident out of her mind. If nothing else, it had served to make her feel better.

It was much later that night, or perhaps even early the next
morning, when Terry was awakened in her bed by the door to her room opening.
"Unh?" she grumbled at the disturbance.

"Terry?" Shaye's voice was high and thin. "I don't feel well."

Terry was too tired to think of many options for dealing with
the situation. "Get in," she mumbled.

Shaye, in one of her borrowed nightshirts, climbed into the
small bed. "I feel sick," she whimpered.

"Shh," Terry soothed her with light touches on her face. "G'back
t'sleep."